


A Proposal In Carpathia

by irtokarkki666



Category: Child's Play/Chucky (Movies)
Genre: Bath Time, Champagne, Fluff, Gen, Marriage Proposal, Overall cuteness, proposal on the phone, tiffany has class, tiffany is beautiful
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-08
Updated: 2020-09-08
Packaged: 2021-03-07 07:34:12
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,199
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26349412
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/irtokarkki666/pseuds/irtokarkki666
Summary: Tiffs has a bath, watches a romantic old movie and gets ideas, sorry if my English doesn't make sense it's not my native language
Relationships: Tiffany Valentine-Ray/Reader
Kudos: 5





	A Proposal In Carpathia

written on Tiffany's pov  
-

I slam the car’s door shut, hassle a bit with the keys, get the damn car locked. It lets out two little blinks of yellow light and a beep, the car’s own way of saying “bye for now”. My feet are hurting. I’ve hoppled around since 7 am in my 12cm heels, and it’s currently 5 pm. And I don’t even go to work. Just some errands I needed to run, the puppet is still lost or in pieces, little do I know and little do I want to know, although the latter is much harder to admit. 

The house stands silent like a oversized version of the mess you find in the bottom of your bag. All kinds of leftover things formed into walls, doors, roofs, floors, furniture. I should paint the house pink, I think. I should paint it pink and get a new, cute tiling on the roof. Maybe get a glass ceiling window. Like this, the house looks old and cranky, like someone’s forgotten grandma wandering around in the semi-countryside. 

I manage to open the door somehow while not dropping my handbag, grocery store’s plastig bag, some designer logo-ed fancy looking bags with lots of wrapping paper, bubble wrap and a couple of Nice Things that cost a lot, but also look good. 

Inside, the first thing I do is kick off my heels. One falls down and shows its red sole, like some vulnerable little animal alarmed at a passerby. The other shoe stays up but turns it’s toebox to the opposing side from me, showing some anarchy to its owner. Red bottom heels, Vivienne Westwood dress, Vuitton handbag. Vintage car with modern V8 engine, perfect for high speed night cruises. A girl’s gotta live with style. I’m not made for anything lesser. 

I fling the entire grocery store bag into the fridge, get the Moët bottle out. I hunt for a glass first from the cabinet and then from the dishwasher. I resist the urge to shake the champagne bottle, only to pop it neatly like a waitress. I place the cork onto the sink egde, the wire I toss next to it. I take the bottle and now filled up glass with me, make it to the bedroom. I empty my entire bag onto the bed, the Vuitton shows it’s entrails hesitantly and I manage to find Your phone number written on a slip ripped from a newspaper. I never was the one to remember numbers. 

I put my hair up into a little bun, break the perfect 60’s style I created this morning. The back combed part of my hair keeps reminding me of its existence, so I give it a couple of gentle strokes with a hairbrush. Then I take a big sip of my drink. The bubbles tingle gently and remind me of the fact that my secret admirer pays for this too, not because I need it but because you want to, and I am a girl who likes to be treated with gifts.

I smile at my reflection on the mirror. I look good, honestly. Then I begin to giggle a little when I strip tease myself out from my clothes, being both the teaser and the teased. Now naked, I take out my ring, earrings and necklace, all Tiffany’s, strangely prophetic, and put the jewelry carefully into a ash tray made from 1700’s Chinese porcelain, too old and fragile to use as an actual ash tray. 

I open the showerhead let the bath run and turn on my little TV, surf on the channels a bit, news, weather, sports, hairspray advertisement, stupid-ish comedy, more news, more advertisement, until I land a vintage, black and white silent movie. I think the actress is Lillian Gish, but I am not sure, since I got only a little glance of her. I shut the water source and pop in a bath bomb, it’s named “Soft Pink Dreams”, it begins to give off rose and vanilla scent and a lot of different pink-shaded bubbles. Now confirmed of Lillian Gish, I get the Moët closer to the bath tub, place my glass on the little table and get into the bath. 

I let my body relax, try to get my lower back stop hurting, wiggle my toes a bit, get another sip of champagne. I reach for the phone, it’s boringly normal black thing, but it does its job. I start to dial the numbers, first checking them on the paper slip.

The phone keeps ringing for the time to Lillian start a conversation with some handsome gentleman, get flowers, and when the man leaves, she smells the roses and the screen goes black, and with violins now in crescendo, paints out the words “I just love him so much”, You answer the phone. 

First I hear a formal “Hello?”, and then a surprised, happy “Oh it’s you babe!”. 

“Hi sweetheart”, I say, immersed into the blooming love both on the TV and on my life. 

“I think you should pay me a visit more often, your girl is getting lonely..”, I do not mean to get my tone so desperate, but it does. Hopefully the line is bad enough to cover it up. 

I listen to the answer. I do not hear properly, since I am reaching for the Moët and messing with holding the glass and pouring the champagne, but Your tone is sweet and slightly flirty. 

“Oi! Stop that, I’m in the bath!”, I giggle and watch Lillian read a letter from someone else entirely to her lover. She frowns, little does she know that the mysterious woman is the gentleman’s sister, I know since I have seen this particular film more than twice. 

Then You make a comment on something you’re watching, and I have to ask if You are watching a Lillian Gish -movie. 

I get a “yes”. 

I look at my reflection on the glass, a bit wonky,and rose tinted, but me. Now or never, I think. I take in a deep breath, and while You are contemplating the movie’s possible plot twists, I just blurt it out without any self control.

“We should get married.”

Silence. 

Then, after two long seconds, another “yes”.

I fill up with bubbles, little happy bubbles that begin from my chest and flutter down my belly, my arms, wrap up my brain. 

“So you do?” My tone now silenced down into a whisper. I dare not to speak any louder, the moment could burst like a soap bubble. 

“Tiffany, I do, by God, I do..” 

I make a little sound, something between a sigh and a small gasp. I need air, I need anything, I am beginning to cry, I can feel them on my eyes, pricking and waiting.

“We should elope like in the 1800’s…”, You say. 

“Elope?”, I ask, little bit teary. “Like in the movies?”

“Excactly like in the movies, white dresses, running in the fields, small town legal offices, have a pink painted carriages with white horses…”

“No”, I say, now certain both about my future and my voice. “I want the horses to be black, and a black parasol”


End file.
